


The Way He Looks In Leather

by SiriusBlacksBitch (TheWaywardFangirl)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Harry Potter - Freeform, I suppose, Just some fluffy stuff, M/M, Tight Pants, annnnnd post, cursing, oh yeah and, post-war fluff, so tw for that, the leather implications are not as bad as they may seem, these boys are gaaaaaaay, wow this sucks so much more upon rereading
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-11-17 17:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18103358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaywardFangirl/pseuds/SiriusBlacksBitch
Summary: The war is over, two out of three Malfoys have escaped an Azkaban sentence, and Draco has developed a new... more exotic taste in clothing. Will his new style stop Lucius' heart, or is there someone else who is secretly far more affected? Watch as this bit of angsty fic slowly swirls and changes into a bit of well-deserved fluff :) :) :)





	1. You're Grounded! Go Live With the Muggles!

They were on sale.

It was an impulse buy in a muggle shop... and suddenly Draco became a boy who wore black pants. 

To be fair, he had, in the past, worn pants that were black. On strictly "muggle attire only" occasions, his father used to have expensive muggle suits made for them both. 

Some of those pants had been black. But, these pants were not those pants. 

 

No, these were something entirely foreign to Draco. They were black, skin-tight, false-pocketed leather skinny jeans that would probably give Lucius Malfoy a stroke. 

Draco loved them. 

 

The first time he’d worn them to dinner, his mother's eyebrows shot up and her eyes narrowed. She sipped her wine in silence until they’d finished the third course, eventually sighing and deciding that there were worse things.  
When Pansy saw them for the first time, she looked him up and down critically before nodding in approval. 

Later she would tell him that he had “needed a change, you ridiculous pureblood.”

He kept the pants. 

\-------------------

Draco had only visited his father in Azkaban a handful of times since his and Narcissa’s trials had left them free (excluding, of course, several surprise Auror visits each month to “see how they were doing” and always getting caught in those “random security checks”). 

Everything had just been...too much, to say the least. Yet, even as a broken man lying in a cell that Draco knew he himself had barely escaped, Lucius Malfoy still felt that he was “responsible” for his son. 

In control of his son, more like. Draco often thought. During this time of ludicrous image-protecting (because what else was there to protect?), Draco’s father was careful to go over each and every part of his appearance when he came to visit. No real conversation could begin until Lucius had told Draco that his shoes were due for a polish or a stubborn piece of his hair was sticking out from the rest. 

“You have to keep up appearances, Draco,” his father would say. “The public cannot be thinking that the Malfoys have fallen prey to their scorn.” 

Ha! If the public truly had any idea! Not that Draco wanted to talk. In fact, having his appearance meticulously combed over was something that he was used to, an ordinary and welcome distraction from the mental onslaught from just being inside the Wizard Prison. 

His visits were very short. The two of them had never truly been friendly, and Draco had stopped looking for his father’s affection in any form soon after he realized what being a Death Eater meant. A wizard like that could not be capable of love or praise. It was impossible. So, since he really had no reason to see his father, why subject himself to it? 

To keep up appearances. Lucius’ drawl came from the back of his mind.

But, little did his father know, Draco kept up no appearances outside of the prison walls. The only person he pretended for was Lucius. The rest of the wizarding world could go fuck themselves. And eventually, Draco told himself, he could too. 

So it was because of this that Draco Malfoy, former Mr. Sleakeazy’s Hair Gel Endorsement, miniature King of Slytherin house, heir to the now-disgraced Malfoy throne, swaggered past the Azkaban guards on a bright, sunny day clad in a newly acquired ensemble of skin-tight black leather. His hair was not slicked. He wore a Weird Sisters t-shirt under his loosely-hemmed suit jacket. This was one day he felt that the guards were nothing to be afraid of. Choosing to wear his preferred outfit had pumped him full of confidence. Yet, the worst trial of the day was still waiting for him deep inside. As he walked past the patrol, Draco figured that if dementors had eyes, they would be popping out of their sockets as he passed. That thought comforted him. 

As he moved forward, Draco’s polished shoes - he couldn’t let his father down completely - clacked against the cold stone, echoing down the halls and trapping the sound in-between each of the magical barriers. He let the noise give him power. He was a boy who wore black pants. Everyone either approved or they shut up. Draco was his own man, independent of his past, living in his present. He made his own choices and he could wear whatever the hell he wanted. 

Somehow, however, these thoughts didn’t comfort him as much as balloon-eyed dementors. He stepped in front of a cell door and watched as his father’s eyes passed right over him, kept going, and then bulged. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucius Malfoy’s son always waltzed through the front gates fifteen minutes early. Lucius did not need to be proud of this, it was how he had raised his son to act. Draco always wore a suit tailored to perfection- also not a required source of attention. His robes were clean and tailored; he walked in a straight-backed but comfortable manner; his hair was nearly always perfect. Each of these things was expected of a Malfoy. Lucius occasionally allowed himself to be proud that there was this one area of his life that hadn’t gone so horribly wrong. At least he had been a good father for as long as the Dark Lord had allowed it. Lucius had produced an heir, and a reasonably competent one he supposed. He had not failed altogether.

These were the thoughts of Lucius Malfoy. So, when he saw a boy with untidy hair and - merlin-forbid - the worst possible kind of muggle female’s attire, he dismissed it. That creature was not fit to be seen. Probably taking after famous Harry Potter, that one. Yet, he had noticed something about the boy, unintentionally: this child had perfect posture. 

Lucius’ eyes snapped back and confirmed the worst thought that he had not even intended to entertain. That thing was his son. 

As the delinquent steeled himself and walked toward the bars, Lucius realized that he was far too angry to speak. His ingrate son sat down. “Hello Father,” Draco spoke casually, “You look well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Upon reflection I've edited this chapter a bit to make it less wordy and *cringy*. But, besides those edits, I've decided to just leave this here and move forward into a better and brighter world of chapter writing. Thanks. Enjoy. Adieu.


	2. Chapter 1.5 - Continue the Story You Lazy Fanfic Writer!

Lucius Malfoy’s face contorted. He seemed to be almost incapable of human communication at that moment. “Are. You. InSANE?!” 

Quite possibly. Draco thought to himself. 

He’d wanted to be completely serene throughout this conversation, but he had to settle for a steadying sigh. He placed a pleasant but concerned expression on his face. “Not the last time I checked. Are you perfectly well yourself, Father?” Draco frowned at the man in front of him. “You do look a bit pale,” he added. 

When it became clear that his father was not going to say anything at that moment, Draco took a deep breath and stated the obvious. 

"So... we may need to talk."


End file.
